


Amalia

by Loudest_Voice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Camping, Dungeon, Gen, RPG elements, Young Child Character, bereavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Voice/pseuds/Loudest_Voice
Summary: Noctis was not able to help his father, but he might be able to reach this little girl's father before it's too late. Everything else can wait.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent my entire vacation playing Square Enix's driving simulator! Thanks to [luvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta-reading this even though she doesn't know the canon. I don't know what I would do without you!
> 
> Also, thanks to [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo), who I met in a fandom forum when looking for other people playing the game. We've been chatting about fics ever since!

Noctis cannot stop thinking about his father’s final moments. Was Regis alone, expecting death to come, but unable to guess the exact moment? Had Regis been asleep, peaceful or dreaming of things to come? Had it been in the heat of battle, with adrenaline dulling his perception of pain? Had he been captured first, then tortured for information? Had he been alone? Had someone died with him?

What had Noctis been doing, miles and miles away, when it happened?

“Noct, we’re here,” says Gladio, as Ignis parks the Regalia. He doesn’t shake Noctis’ shoulder.

Noctis might not be good at feigning sleep, but they could at least pretend to buy it.

“I’m so glad Iris got out alright,” Prompto is saying, as he stretches his arms over his head. “Can’t wait to see her so we can get some news!”

“Yeah,” says Noctis, rubbing his eyes.

He doesn’t feel the hope he hears in Prompto’s voice, but that has to be the shock of the situation or something. If he just keeps moving, his body will get used to the dead weapons seeping into his bones, and thoughts of Regis falling will fade from his mind. He has to believe that.

“We should retire for the evening,” says Ignis.

“What, why?” asks Prompto. “It’s like mid-afternoon. We’ve got plenty of time to reach Lestallum by nightfall.”

“Better not risk it,” says Noctis, yawning. “Iris is safe enough where she is. Probably safer without us leading the Imperials to her.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” says Gladio. “Iris is much tougher than she looks.”

Yes, Noctis knows. That’s why he’s considering indulging the sudden need to sleep, or at least lie down with his eyes closed.

But he can’t really fall asleep. The bed at Alstor’s cheap motel is lumpy, and the bright sunlight streaming through the blinds keeps him wide awake. Putting the pillow over his head makes him feel like he can’t breathe. The only silver lining is that Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto didn’t go to bed, so he doesn’t have to worry about them noticing how much he’s tossing and turning.

Eventually, Noctis punches the pillow and sits up on the bed, starting a frustrated grunt that turns into a dry sob somewhere on the way up his throat. He breathes, then slides out of bed and steps out into the sun. Right after starting the trip, gazing out at the pristine landscape soothed him. Maybe he should go to the lake and try his luck at fishing.

He would try and do it alone, certain that he can warp away from most threats unscathed, but he’d promised Gladio and Ignis, both separately and together, that he would not try going off on his own during their trip. Not that he hasn’t broken those types of promises before, but he’s technically a king now, and breaking promises is beneath a king.

Though Regis had not batted an eye at omitting information.

Noctis shakes his head, tries to focus his frustrations on the blistering heat, then goes to look for his friends. They can’t be far off, not with the way they’ve been hovering more than usual lately. He finds Prompto across the highway, taking pictures of a herd of beasts about half-a-mile away.

“Having fun?” Noctis asks him.

“Yeah,” says Prompto, beaming. “When we get back home, I’m gonna have enough pics to be published every week from now until I die.”

Noctis doesn’t know what to say to that. Their home is under Imperial occupation, and Prompto is travelling with a prince that’s already been declared dead. Even if there’s enough left of Insomnia for magazines and the like, the chances that Prompto will ever return to the life of a normal commoner grow slimmer every day.

“I mean. . .” Prompto trails off, perhaps realizing, or remembering the same things that Noctis can’t stop thinking about. “We’re gonna get through this somehow. It won’t be the way we thought, but we’ll find the Tombs, get you those super weapons, find Lunafreya, and kick the Empire’s ass. We just gotta be smart and careful, y’know?” He laughs, but it’s an empty sound. “Do what Ignis says more often.”

“Yeah.” Noctis steps closer. “Do you want me to take your picture? You can ‘shop it later so it looks like you’re right with the beasts. That way you can impress girls later.”

“Hey, I could totally get legit pics fighting monsters,” says Prompto, slapping Noctis’ shoulder. “No need for fraud in this adventure.”

But he hops over the fence separating the highway from the field, and Noctis spends the next half-an-hour or so taking pictures of him as he strikes silly poses. Noctis takes a couple of close-ups, laughing for the first time in what feels like days when he catches a second of Prompto screwing up his face and sticking out his tongue. Hopefully, Prompto will let him keep that picture.

Prompto has a bad habit of trashing the best ones, in Noctis’ opinion at least, complaining about his freckles, or odd minuscule pimples, or how his jacket’s color clashes with some particular lighting. Noctis doesn’t fight him about it, but it’s annoying. He’s never so harsh when it’s someone or something else in the picture. Still, Noctis doesn’t want to micromanage him. He hates it when other people tell him how to do his own hobby, like there’s not enough people telling him how to do everything else. If Prompto feels that strongly about pictures of himself, then who’s Noctis to tell him to get over it.

He’ll just keep taking crappy pictures of Prompto with his phone’s crappy camera.

Prompto calls it a day at the start of twilight, and Noctis’ headache pounds harder as they peruse the pictures. Hoping that Prompto won’t delete all the pictures, Noctis looks around for Gladio and Ignis. Maybe he can talk them into heading out to the fields to search for a campsite before nightfall. The post’s inn has horrid beds, but the night’s sky has never failed to lull him into sleep. How often has Ignis complained about how difficult it is to get him up and going most mornings?

A low, hiccuping wail distracts him as they walk towards the post’s small restaurant. He veers away from Prompto, saying something generic about stopping by the inn, then follows the sound. There’s no need to draw too much attention to tears in a post right away. There are no monsters around, so it’s likely that whoever’s crying needs more privacy than help.

He slips into a crevasse between the hardware store and the restaurant, praying that his clothes won’t get snagged on the concrete. Behind the buildings, crouched behind a flimsy fence, is a skinny, dark-skinned girl with curly hair clipped down with red barrettes. Noctis frowns, searching for a way to make sure she’s uninjured without alerting her to his presence, but there isn’t one. He steps closer, not bothering to keep his footsteps light, but the girl doesn’t hear him.

“Hey,” says Noctis.

The girl looks up, then rubs her eyes as she hiccups and straightens up. She barely reaches past his waist, so he estimates that she must be under ten. Ignis might be better equipped to handle her, though he doesn’t have any young relatives.

“Are you okay?”

The girl opens her mouth, chokes on a loud hiccup, and shakes her head.

“I’m Noctis,” he says, extending his hand to her. “I’ll try to help, if you’ll let me.” He would help regardless, but he would prefer not to chase her.

The girl takes his hand, but her sobbing continues. Noctis has to shorten his steps for her, and gets pretty impatient by the time they turn the corner. Stupidly, he wonders if Gladios feels this way all the time, then shakes his head. Their height difference isn’t that dramatic. Besides, he ought to be focusing on the best way to examine the girl for injuries.

They run into Ignis by the restaurant’s entrance. He exchanges a look with Noctis, then opens the door behind him and leads them to a booth towards the back of the restaurant, beside a couple of Justice Monsters Five pinball machines. Noctis eyes them, thinking that he may be able to use them to get the girl to open up, as Ignis invites the girl to sit down.

“I’ll procure us some food,” says Ignis, straightening his glasses. “Miss, would it be correct to guess that you like fries?”

The girl offers him a tiny nod, and Ignis smiles lightly, sharing a look with Noctis.

“He never lets me eat fries without whining about vegetables,” Noctis tells the girl, as Ignis walks away. “That means he must like you a lot already.”

That earns him a shy look from red-rimmed eyes and a hiccup.

“I’m Noctis.” He frowns, thinking that he probably said that already.

“Like the king?”

Noctis opens his mouth to correct her― _no, like the prince_ ―but she’s right, isn’t she? Noctis is the king now, as much as it’s possible to be the king of a conquered kingdom. Well, she’s talking to him. No need to let his own angst distract him.

“What’s your name?”

“Amalia,” she says, rubbing a string of snot off her nose.

“Like the flower?”

Amalia nods. Then she hiccups and starts crying again, so Noctis figures it’s best if he shuts up and wait for Ignis to come back with the fries.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have an outline for this, so I'm 99% sure it will be finished (unless the game manages to annihilate all the good will it's built in the last act, which I'm now just getting to).
> 
> [My blog](http://www.dynamicallyopposed.com/) is here.


End file.
